Royal Ponderings

“Appen most folk wer reet patriotic back when ah wer a nipper“ ah announced ter me mates Big Ron an’ Joe Sykes, ovva a pint o’ Bull Mastif Son Of A Bitch, daan t’ Angel Inn.

“Aye” agreed Big Ron, noddin’ sagely. “Reckon it wer t’ memories o’ t’ war wot did it!”

“T’ youth o’ t’ day dunt know theyer born!” added, Joe Sykes doin’ is best Michael Palin impression.

(Sometimes it wer very easy ter forget that Joe Sykes wer considerably younger than Big Ron an’ me. An’ sometimes it wer just bleedin’ obvious!)

“Ah reckon jus’ abaat ivvery ‘ousehold  ‘ad buntin’ tucked away fer special occasions” ah continued. “Sum even ‘ad t’ Union Flag. An t’ whole blinkin’ lot would cum aat at t’ drop o’ a hat given ‘alf an excuse!”

“Aye” says Big Ron agayen. “Me mother wud insist on ironing ours afore it cud be hung up. She used ter say, ‘We might be pooer, an’ we might ‘ave bugger aal, but we can allus show us pride!’ “

“Sounds like she wer a smart woman, your mam” says Joe Sykes.

“She wer as batty as a bag o’ rats wot’s bin sniffin’ methane daan t’ sewers” replied Big Ron.

“Does tha remember t’ year o’ t’ Jubillee” ah asks? “When t’ whole village agreed ter hold a street party, an’ we wer aal expected ter do us bit!”

“Aye!” says Big Ron. “My job wer t’ shovel aal t’ dung fra t’ lanes – which ter be honest,  ah didn’t mind as ah knew I’d get a few pennies fer it at t’ Nunnery. Appen theyer garden reeked summat rotten but their root vegetables wer legendary.”

“Ah remember t’ day o’ t’ Jubilee” ah says. “It wer warm an’ bright, wi’ enuf blue sky ter mek a happy dray-man a pair o’ pantaloons an’ probably a pullover as well!”

“That’s right” says Big Ron. “An t’ first part o’ t’ jollification wer to elect,  an’ then crown, a King an’ Queen fer t’ day, fra t’ folks wot lived in t’ village.”

“Yup” ah says. “Mi dad got one o’ them owd Thunderbox contraptions med by Thomas Crapper & Co, mounted it on an owd kipper crate an’ painted t’ lot red white an’ blue. ‘e said, ‘Nah that’s wot ah call a royal throne!’ Later it wer installed at one end o’ t’ marquee on t’ village green.”

“So oo wer crowned t’ King & Queen?” asked Joe.

“It wer a Mr & Mrs Athena” says Joe. “They ‘adn’t been livin’ in t’ village aal that long, an’ ran a picture framing business fra home. Betty Goodbust. oo lived next door, said they wer reet hard workers, that wer often heard bangin’ away late into t’ night!”

“But ah think they wer chosen” ‘e added, “’cause Mr Athena ‘ad a pretty decent beard – an’ so ter be fair, did ‘is wife. They were t’ spittin’ images o’ t’ royal family!”

“They both wore red white an’ blue cloaks med fra a set o’ curtains purloined fra t’ church vestry” ah says. “Mrs Athena stood next ter ‘er husband as ‘e sat on t’ Royal Throne wi a painted golden ballcock in one ‘and an’ a golden loofer in t’other.

“But jus’ then” says Big Ron picking up t’ story agayen, “as Betty Goodbust bent daan ter place t’ crown on his head (med fra a Thunderbox seat covered in sequins an’ t’ odd plastic jewel) she accidently let one go! T’ Reverent Toucher immediately cum to ‘er rescue by tekkin t’ first note, an’ humming t’ National Anthem. O’ course there wer tittering an’ smirks fra rest o ‘t’ villagers, but nowt further wer said.”

“Then wot ‘appened?” asked Joe Sykes. “Was there a parade?”

“There most certainly was!” ah says. “Aal t’ junior school chilerns  did a sort o’ march-by dressed in various shades o’ red white an’ blue, an’ ivveryone cheered an’ clapped as they passed. Big Ron’s brother Chip marched along holdin’ an owd piece o’ metal on a string – an’ occasionally struck it wi a nail. It med such a sweet sound. Bumpy Awkright din’t ‘ave an instrument so ‘e just slapped t’ back o’ ‘is neck as ‘e marched along. One owd soldier played t’ Last Reverie ova an’ ova on ‘is bugle because it wer t’ only tune ‘e knew.  By t’ time t’ parade ‘ad marched twice raand t’ village green we wer aal sick o’ it – so us thowats turned quickly ter food an’ t’ feast that wer awaitin’ us.”

“Feast?” enquired Joe Sykes.

“Oh aye – feast!” says Big Ron. “Some-ow aal t’ tressle tables in t’ region ‘ad bin gathered together, an’ layed aat end ter end, in a big long row, starting at t’ village hall an’ finishing at t’ church. Agayen they’d bin covered in red white an’ blue table cloths, blankets, ooer just owd newspapers. An tied ter each table wer garden canes holdin’ up t’ bunting – that stretched t’ full length o’ t’ scene. Ah reckon ah‘ve not seen owt prettier, before ooer since, ‘cept wen ah went aat riding one night in t’ moonlight wi Mable Johnson. But that’s another story.”

“Onnyroad” ah says jumpin’ in. “ Aal t’ tables wer groaning under t’ weight o’ t’ food that us mams ‘ad bin preparin’ f’ days. There wer triangularly cut salmon sandwiches, curly piccalilli sandwiches, boiled eggs, growlers, kale chutney an bowls of steamin’ brawn. There was diced swede, rabbit drumsticks, barbeque’d road kill an’ goodness knows wot else.  Oh, an’ gallons o’ free Apple Scrumpy donated by t’ nuns.”

“An’ Ivvery last morsel was eaten!” said Big Ron wi a kind o’ pride on ‘is fissog. “In fact it wer quite a hubbub until we wer called to order by PC  La Strange pulling out his enormous truncheon an’ pounding it on t’ table. Speeches wer then med by a few know-it-aal parish councillor types afore t’ serious drinkin started in earnest  – and t’ nuns had to wheel down some more barrels in their handcarts. To my surprise ah noted that they wer drinkin’ aalmost as much o’ it themselves!”

“It wer a shame that aal t’ decent musicians in t’ district had been gamefully employed elsewhere that day!” ah says. “We ‘ad ter mek do wi t’ Reverend Toucher’s wind-up gramophone an’ ‘is odd selection o’ records! Many o’ which contained music fra aal-male choirs in countries ah’d nivver even heard of.  I think Llandudno was one!

“Appen ah cannot fer t’ life o’ me, recall now, ‘ow t’ day ended!” mused Big Ron.

“Ah do recall dancin’ ter that owd classic, ’Ah feel so gay’, wi one o’ t’ younger nuns” ah says. “That wer t’ fust time ah kissed a girl. Ah nivver realised tha has ter use tha tongue! Next thing ah knew ah wer wakin’ up, freezin’ cold in t’ allotments, wi a head that felt like it’d been stuffed wi suet. Ah’d some’ow lost me new waistcoat an’ aal t’ buttons on me trousers were undone. But ah felt strangely satisfied.”

“An if tha tells that ter t’ youth o’ today” says Joe Sykes, “appen they’ll not believe thee!”

“Nope” says Big Ron an' me in unison. “Nor wud t’ Queen!”